An abstract representation of infinity

Short-lived infinities

We share bits of our infinities with each other
holding on to as little as we must,
as much as we can.
Ensuring we remember crumpled fingertips
and stories tucked in the middle of the night.
I chuckle when you narrate the one
about prying cops
with fireflies skimming the body of the lake.

I have nicknamed you ‘FireFlies’.

We create our own inside jokes,
some of them funny enough to bomb straightaway.
Others might die a day later
when we return to our orbits
with little overlap.

I ask questions,
deciphering the book you are,
and you do the same,
unravelling me,
seeking unflinchingly.
Time calls for a speed read,
but we take it slow,
mulling over our words
as they create a life outside us
and sit beside each other
at the foot of the couch.

The eternal skeptic that I am,
my head struggles to wrap itself around the mysticism that is you.
I wonder if my cold logic appears to you
just how your freefalling faith seems to me.
Are they just two opposite halves?

If I think again,
we are both skeptics:
You, from the inside looking out,
I, from the outside looking in.

Time’s running out.
So we use our thick brushstrokes and create pictures
not too sharp or distinct,
just enough to have memories of tonight.
When it’s time to leave,
we exchange our works.
These will have imprints of our infinities.
Maybe, these will do.

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